


There Are Happier Thoughts

by ShadowsOffense



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Peter Pan Fusion, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsOffense/pseuds/ShadowsOffense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freedom, love, and responsibility; if Isabela and Hawke can't agree on two, then they each only get one.  Some things take more than happy thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Are Happier Thoughts

The night breeze stirs Isabela’s hair and she closes her eyes, listening to the sound of the waves and trying to trick her mind into believing the wooden boards of Castillon’s ship are the _Siren’s_ deck. For a moment, an effort of will could make time, itself, unwind.

“There you are.” Planks creak under Hawke’s feet as the mage makes her way to Isabela and leans beside her against the rail. “Isabela, are you crying?”

“I never cry.” She does, however, shift into contact with Hawke’s side, blinking her eyes clear. She exhales as their bodies fit beside one another so easily, a bittersweet sigh.

“Of course not,” Hawke replies with as straight a face as she can muster. “You never cry, never stay the night, and, next thing, you’ll be telling me you only came back to the Hanged Man to listen to Varric’s stories.”

It stings, a little, but that last bit, and the wiry tilt to Hawke mouth, surprises a laugh out of her. She doesn’t want to fight again. “I _do_ go to the Hanged Man to listen to Varric’s stories,” Isabela teases. “I especially likes the way he makes them **come** to an end.”

Hawke snorts and bumps Isabela gently with her hip. “Slattern,” she intones, in a fairly decent imitation of Aveline’s voice before coughing and chuckling. “I might even believe you,” the mage’s voice sobers. “If you hadn’t ducked out _prematurely_ ; he hadn’t finished yet, you tease.”

The way Hawke can mix biting sincerity into an innuendo laden jest should have tipped off the Templars long ago. 

“So,” Hawke says at last as the silence stretches out. “Where will you go?” She tilts her head towards the dark water, indistinguishable from the night sky, the whole horizon just an empty expanse of freedom.

“I don’t know,” Isabela admits. “There,” her finger stabs towards a star so low it looks like it could be touching the water. “I’ll head for that one and see what happens at dawn.”

“That’s your plan? First star to the right and straight on 'till morning?” Hawke sounds incredulous. “I think I liked the profit one better; isn’t there supposed to be more to navigation than that? Are you sure it was the Qunari that sunk your ship, or did you just make that up after you ran into Kirkwall’s coast so you’d have an exciting tale to impress everyone?”

“Of course not!” Isabela’s voice goes ridged with insulted pride. “I had Varric make it up for me.”

“Of course,” Hawke smiles, but before Isabela can return it, the expression fades. “That sounds like that will be hard to put on the letters,” she says softly.

Isabela bites the inside of her cheek, growing cold and clammy. Hawke and her bloody responsibility; couldn’t the woman be selfish, just once? “Pirates don’t really get letters.” This time the stiffness in her tone is not in jest.

“I wish I could go with you,” Hawke sighs, making Isabela want to hit her.

“You can!” she bursts out. Shit. She didn’t want to fight tonight.

“I have responsibilities; I can’t ignore them like a child.” It’s the same argument they’ve had a dozen times over in anger and frustration, but they are both fighting for the same thing: a life together. “We all have to grow up sometime ‘Bela,” Hawke’s words are bitter. She pushes back from the rail, muttering one last, parting shot under her breath. “Well, all of us except **you.** ”

The barb hits its mark. Isabela sighs, knowing Hawke’s arms will be welcoming when she slips into the apostate’s bed later tonight. That almost makes it hurt worse. “Hawke,” Isabela calls, unwilling to let them part like this, with this agony in her chest. “Varric’s story. How did it end?”

Hawke hesitates. For a moment, Isabela thinks she won’t answer, but then the mage half-turns, shouting the answer back over her shoulder. “And they lived happily ever after, of course!” Hawke's form is just a shadow at this distance and Isabela thinks its better that she can't see her face.

“Stupid thing,” Isabela whispers quietly, so Hawke can't hear her. “Why won’t you stick?” As she speaks, the dark shape of the woman slips off, leaving Isabela alone on the deck of her new ship.


End file.
